


You're not a monster

by KUPOXV



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Albino Noctis, Albinoct, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Esmeralda!Prompto, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, M/M, Mentions of public humiliation, More like nomade and dancer Prompto, Rating M because I may add a second chapter with smut one day, The hunchback of Notre-Dame AU, mentions of discrimination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11471058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KUPOXV/pseuds/KUPOXV
Summary: A Hunchback of Notre-Dame AU with an albino!Noctis with Esmeralda!Prompto and that's all barcodechocobo's fault.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo barcodechocobo drew a Frollo!Ardyn from the Hunchback of Notre-Dame (here https://barcodechocobo.tumblr.com/post/162779606629/glameowstic-barcodechocobo-ive-been-blasting) then it turned into some Promdyn thing and there was born Esmeralda!Prompto from them too (https://barcodechocobo.tumblr.com/post/162800929169/still-going-off-the-hunchback-of-notre-dame-au) and theeen it slipped into a few people including me proposing Noctis as Quasimodo, but being an albino instead of a hunchback.
> 
> Now I always loved the idea of albinoct, even better when I read this ask https://barcodechocobo.tumblr.com/post/162834354009/im-going-to-be-really-sinful-here-but-i-adore but first I wanted to write some fluffy fluff because I picture albinoct like a fluffy shy snowball of cuteness. (and because I wasn't in the mood for smut.) 
> 
> SO HERE IT IS FOR YOU MY DEAR BARCODECHOCOBO. Thank you for blessing us with your fanarts in general (not forgetting your beautiful mer!prom x noct you did for me <3) and I hope you'll be inspired for more Notre-Dame fanarts too !
> 
> PS : Beta by prompto-cam <3 <3  
> PS again : This was written at 2am, I apologize if it's kinda short and rushed but... No, actually I don't. ENJOY

The large door opens in front of him just in time. Prompto throws himself through the opening and the priest next to him stops the two soldiers who've been running after him from coming closer, pressing his hand against the chest of one of them.

 

“Move. Judge Izunia ordered his arrest.”

“This is the house of God. As long as this boy is under this roof, you shall not lay a hand on him.”

“But-”

 

Prompto stays frozen until the older man dressed in a white cassock closes the door and turns to him with a warm smile.

 

“I... Thank you, Father.” The blond boy mumbles.

“Don't worry about them, young man. You're safe here, you can stay as long as you want.”

 

Prompto nods and watches as the man walks away, going back to whatever he was doing previously before he started knocking like a mad man at the door, asking for sanctuary. He takes a deep breath in before exhaling, waiting for his heartbeat to settle a little. When his head isn't spinning anymore, he looks up to take in the beauty of the place.

So this is Notre-Dame. It's absolutely stunning, illuminated by hundreds of candles burning slowly, filled with people quietly praying, ignoring him. He's relieved no one actually bothers him.

 

He starts moving as well, walking slowly through all the golden chandeliers, pausing in front of a few statues representing Saints until he finds himself facing one representing Mary. He stares at the gracious figure for a moment before kneeling in front of it. He signs himself and closes his eyes to address a silent prayer to whoever wants to listen to him. Warmth slowly spreads through his body. He's feeling quiet and peaceful here, and can leave his worries behind for a moment. He forgets about everything for a few minutes. The fact that he's being chased by this mad man, his hunger, his anger toward the people who tortured this poor man, how cold his bare feet feel – he really regrets he didn't keep shoes on for his little show in front of Judge Izunia. Everything.

 

He stays like this until a movement above his head has him opening his eyes to spot a white figure already disappearing into the darkness. Wait. Was someone watching him just now?

 

“Hey, wait!” He shouts, only to be immediately scolded by a woman a few meters away, gesturing for him to talk in a low voice.

 

Prompto slightly bows as an excuse and jogs to the stairs nearby, starts running when he's sure he won't be heard by the people but hearing pressed footsteps further.

 

“Wait, why are you hiding?” He says again but is only met by the same, rapid footsteps sprinting upstairs.

 

Damn, just how fast are they? He slows down, out of breath, supporting himself with a hand against the cold stone when his head starts spinning again. He really needs to eat something. The stairs feel endless, and he isn't sure anymore if he really saw someone or if he was just hallucinating. He wraps his red shawl around his shoulders and keeps going. It takes a few minutes before he get to the top and he stops when he thinks he heard voices.

 

“He's coming, guys. What do I do?”

 

He can't figure the mumbles.

 

“Normal? But I'm not normal.” The same voice goes on. “He's... He's going to be so scared. I must hide, I need to hide!”

 

Prompto frowns as the male's voice keeps mumbling to itself and finally comes up to see who he has to deal with. “Hey, I know you've been creeping at me for a while now. What do you-”

 

He stops when he recognizes the pale man from earlier standing frozen in front of him. Well... Pale isn't doing justice to him. He's as white as a ghost, literally. Not just his skin, his hair as well, clashing with the dirty looking grey clothes he's wearing, tainted with the remnants of the things he was thrown out earlier during the day. Food waste and mud. The man doesn't move, mouth slightly opened, breathing uneven, wide red eyes staring.

 

Prompto blinks a few times, taking in the information his eyes are getting for him – he didn't take the time to look at him before, too infuriated by Judge Izunia's lack of reaction in front of the humiliation the poor man had to suffer – before a wide smile stretches his mouth. “You're the bell ringer!”

 

“Yes, I... What?” The other replies, dumbfounded, his voice small. “Wait... You're not scared?”

 

The blond haired man quirks a curious brow before turning his attention to one of the bells. It's so much bigger than he thought. There are roman numbers curved in the metal but he can't read them, he never learned.

 

“Why should I?” He moves toward a small table filled with fruits, wine and bread. He grabs a slice and pours himself some wine, silently hoping the other man won't be bothered. He ignores the red eyes gazing at him and swallows a few bites with an entire glass before his focus is back on the other.

 

God. He's so... He's never seen anyone looking like him before. He's stunning. It looks like all color was drained from his body, except for his irises. Others would say he's weird, terrifying. But Prompto finds him exceptionally gorgeous and, somehow, attractive.

 

“Lost your tongue?” He asks again, expecting an answer.

 

The white haired man gasps and slowly shakes his head, making a step toward him before changing his mind and stopping right where he is. “I... You should be. I'm a monster.”

 

Prompto snorts and crosses his arms when he feels his body shivering. God, he's so cold. He hopes the wine will soon work its way into his stomach and warm him up a little.

 

“You're not.”

“Did you see me?”

“Yes. And the only thing I see is a man who needs to go outside and spend an entire day drinking the sun's light.”

“I can't. My skin burns and I can't see anything when there's too much light.”

 

Prompto bites the inside of his cheek. Maybe he's got some kind of disease. He's no doctor, he can't tell for sure. Or maybe God decided to bless him in a very strange way, what if angels looked like him?

 

“It doesn't matter, you're still not a monster. I can tell.”

“How?” The pale man frowns. “Are you... You're mocking me, right? Like the others did.”

 

Prompto's eyes widen in horror. Of course he isn't, he would never do that. He shakes his head and comes closer, startling the other who wants to back up but isn't fast enough and he catches his wrist.

 

“Show me your hands.” He says firmly and it takes a little before the man does what he's asked to. Prompto slowly studies the inside of his palms, his index wandering on each line and he can feel the other shivering under his touch. He admires the pale but warm hands between his, long fingers already calloused by years of work, probably since he was really young. And those blue veins all over his hands and wrists clashing with his white skin are beautiful. He just wants to touch them, run his fingers all over the skin and–

_Focus Prompto, focus._

 

“Hm... That's strange.”

“What, what's strange?”

“I can't find the evil line.” He looks up to face him. “Only monsters have them. Seems like you're not one of them.”

“The evil line?”

“Yes. Here you have your heart line, your head line and this one's your life line. My mother was a fortune teller and excellent at reading hands,” he adds. “You can trust me.”

 

He keeps the bigger hands between his own, enjoying the warmth. He gazes at the other, who looks obviously confused and lost. “I'm Prompto, by the way. Mind to give me your name?”

 

“Noctis.” The pale man simply replies, red eyes falling on him. They stare at each other for a while, a pleasant feeling spreading in his body. When Noctis realizes how close they are, though, his cheeks take a very light pink shade that Prompto easily associates to blushing. He frees his hand and turns his back to him.

 

“I... Thank you, for this morning.”

 

Prompto's smile vanishes. Right, the humiliation. Damn those people, just because he's different from what they're used to seeing. He closes the gap between the two of them, standing behind him and resting his chin on the other's shoulder who tenses a little before relaxing. He scent is nice under the dry mud and dirty clothes. Something strong but pleasant.

 

“I'm sorry for what happened. You didn't deserve this, Noctis.”

 

“I... I did. Ardyn would've helped me if I didn't.” He hesitates. “I embarrassed him in front of all those people.”

 

Prompto jumps at the name, brows furrowing. Ardyn, again. “What do you mean?”

 

“Ardyn's my master.” He turns to him again, putting a small distance between the two of them. “He... Adopted me when my mother abandoned me because of... Well, what I am. He's been taking care of me since I was a baby, but I have to stay here and take care of the bells. This way people don't have to see me.”

 

Oh. He gets it now. The horrible man made him believe he was a monster. Prompto heaves a loud sigh, just how bad is this 'holy man'?

 

“Noctis... You didn't deserve what happened. You're not a monster.”

 

“Then how do you explain this?” Noctis gestures toward his own face, obviously getting frustrated and angry. “You... It's easy for you to say that. You're gorgeous, everyone was gaping at you while you were dancing. Everybody admires and loves you. But people will always hate me.”

 

So that's where the problem is. Prompto doesn't take any offense from Noctis' words. His life's far from being easy but he's right, people don't judge him for being physically different. At least, it doesn't cross their mind that they should humiliate him in front of everyone right at the feet of Notre-Dame.

 

He feels guilty all of sudden. He's had a family before, and now he still has friends who cherish him. Noctis is alone and has always been. Worst, Ardyn's the only one by his side. And he definitely doesn't look like the warm type of person.

 

He bites his lips and gently grabs Noctis' chin between two fingers, the golden bracelets around his wrists clashing together. “I don't hate you.”

 

He wipes away a tear rolling on a pale cheek, before looking at those red eyes. They look like rubies. “You know, my mom used to say when babies spend their first night, God sends an angel to bless them.” He runs his index on the warm, flawless skin. “The angel would gently touch above the baby's mouth to bless him or her, and it'd create this little curve.” He gently presses his digit on the little groove between Noctis' upper lip and nose. “The philtrum is a proof of this blessing.”

 

Their faces are so close he can feel the other's breath against his skin, their noses almost touching. He looks right into his eyes, smiling gently. “Do you think angels would bless a monster? Someone who doesn't deserve love in God's eyes?”

 

Prompto closes the gap between the two of them, pressing his body against Noctis as their lips meet in a shy, tender kiss. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the lips pressing against his, how Noctis is being timidly responsive. Prompto's heart is hammering so hard in his chest and he's pretty sure the other male can feel it against his own. When they finally part, he has an arm wrapped around the pale neck and a hand lost between the white mess that is Noctis' hair. “People don't appreciate your beauty, but I do.”

 

Noctis' mouth is trembling, his eyes watering. He slowly rests his shaking hands on the blond man's bare hips. “Is it a dream?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /!\ TRIGGER WARNING : discrimination ; moral/emotional abuse ; public humiliation /!\
> 
> So obviously I was H E A V I L Y inspired by the movie for this chapter (well... for this entire story, though chap 3 will be totally different. ;)   
> I really 'enjoyed' writing this! Even if it's sad, it'll get better from here. I don't plan on writing the entire story, next chap could be the last one, idk. Anyway, now I'm focusing on updating next chapter of Lost in blue because it's been more than a month???? I can't believe it, work is screwing up with my writing schedule!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this guys!
> 
> (beta: prompto-cam)
> 
> Btw I also want to say, I have nothing against albino people. (I actually think they're gorgeous). I just really wanted to write a Notre-Dame AU but the idea of having a disformed Noctis wasn't for me so I chose to make him an albino, because it - saddly - wasn't understood back during those times and was perfect for this AU. Thankfully we'll be able to give a lot of love and appreciation to our adorable albinoct through Prompto's eyes in next chapter. Lots of love to albino people!

"I... Don't think this is a good idea.” Noctis mutters as he keeps painting the little wooden figurine between his hands.

 

“What are you talking about?” A much deeper voice replies. “This is a great idea. You'll be able to see tons of new things, try new food, meet people, tell him Iggy!”

 

“I have to agree it'd be nice if you'd give this a try. It only happens once per year.” Another voice resonates and the young man turns to look at the two other males, leaving his paintbrush on the table.

 

“Even you, Iggy?” He gazes at the imposing statues standing close to him. Two gorgeous men sculpted in marble with large wings on their back. He'd been terrified the first time they interacted with him, thinking they were possessed by some kind of evil spirit. But they managed to gain his trust with time and quickly became his only friends.

 

Ignis, a tall and slender man, nods slightly and crosses his arms before gesturing toward the outside. Noctis turns his head to look at the amazing scenery in front of them. The sun's slowly rising, Paris bathing in its light while the sky has taken orange and pink colors. The weather will be great for sure. Everyone else except for him must be rejoicing, he doesn't like it when it's too hot, he can't stand it.

 

“But... People will get mad at me. And Ardyn forbid me to go outside. He'd be furious if I asked him permission.”

 

“Well, Ardyn can't get mad at you if he doesn't know you've been outside.” Gladiolus, a much large man compared to Ignis, crosses his arms with a smile. “You just have to hide yourself. Stay there for a few hours.”

 

Noctis bites his lips, seriously considering it. The Feast of Fools happens only once per year on January. He could only assist to it from his place, high up in the towers of Notre Dame. Well, he could hear more than see people enjoying themselves. He either can't see anything because the light's too bright or he's just scared someone might spot him if they look up. Even from afar, he's afraid he's easy to notice.

 

He can't show himself. Ardyn, his master, the one who adopted him when he was abandoned by his mother, always tells him that people would never tolerate him. He's too different, Ardyn says he isn't even sure if he's fully human.

 

But maybe this time, he could give it a try. If he wears a large cloak and some gloves, he'd be fine. He wants to see the shows, the people in disguise singing those festive songs, the musicians, and he would definitely not refuse some pastries.

 

He sighs and almost slams the fragile figurine on the table before standing up, his red eyes sparkling with a new resolution, skin tingling with excitement.

 

“You're right, guys. I'll do it, I'll go to-” He turns toward them, only to slam his face against a broad chest, a familiar scent invading his nostrils and he looks up to see amber eyes staring down at him.

 

“Noctis, who were you talking to?” Ardyn asks with a gentle smile he always wears in front of him. It could feel father-like if only Noctis didn't feel the pity and something else behind it.

 

“I... To my friends.” The young man looks at his feet after taking a step back, feeling suddenly embarrassed of himself. Just like every time he has to face the other man. Ardyn's so big, not only physically but his aura is the one of a powerful, strong man. Noctis feels like a small insect next to him. Ardyn is admired and respected by everyone, whereas he remains unknown and would only be hated if he was to show himself.

 

“Your friends.” Ardyn knocks one of the statues' – Gladiolus – chest. “You mean those statues made of stone?” He grabs a chair and sits on it, crossing his long legs. “Can stones talk, Noctis?”

 

The pale man shakes his head, gaze stuck on the floor. He wants to say they don't, agree with him. But the words remain blocked in his throat.

 

He doesn't see the large grin on his master's face for a split second before Ardyn clears his throat.

 

“Now, my boy, I brought you some food.” He puts the small basket he was holding on the table, not minding the figurines on it and just pushing them away with a swift move. “Pour us some wine.”

 

Noctis jumps and goes to grab two glasses, keeping the most beautiful for Ardyn while he has an old one sculpted in wood. He sits in front of the maroon-haired man after grabbing a stool and pours some of the expensive drink (he only drinks alcohol when Ardyn visits). The archdeacon brings the glass to his lips while gesturing for him to serve himself some food.

 

Noctis cuts himself a slice of bread and bites in it, taking his time to chew like the older man told him to. Ardyn can't stand it when he has hiccups and it tends to happen every time he eats his bread too fast.

 

Ardyn looks at the mess that the large table is, filled with little figurines, paint, brushes, papers and more. Noctis spends the biggest part of his days creating all of these, decorating his place with a lot of colorful things. He's usually very proud of it, or at least satisfied. But this is a different story when the man grabs a thick paper, still slightly wet from all the paint used, and stares at it.

 

“Is this what I bring you all this paint for?” His voice is calm as he looks up and turns the painting around for Noctis to see. A scenery of the festival from last year – or at least the main idea – he did last night, dreaming that he could go this year.

 

All blood drains from his face, even if it doesn't make any difference, and his eyes widen in horror. He forgot to put it somewhere else where Ardyn wouldn't see it.

 

“I...”

 

“I thought I told you to get this out of your mind.” Ardyn says, frowning. “I don't understand why you're obsessed with this ridiculous, shameful event.”

 

“But you go every year” He dares to reply. He always envied him.

 

His master makes a face and crumbles the paint between his fingers, then throws it on the floor. “I am a public official, I must go. But I don't enjoy a moment, I despise it. Thieves, gypsies and all the waste of mankind mixed together in a disgusting, drunken stupor.”

 

Noctis doesn't know what to reply, he just looks down and mumbles an apology. He wishes that it'd stop now and the older man would leave, but Ardyn goes on, leans in and grabs his face between fingers more delicate than his own. Never damaged by the friction of ropes, nails perfect – slightly too long in the youngest's opinion. “Noctis, don't you understand? When your shameful mother abandoned you twenty years ago, if it wasn't for me, you would've been drowned or boiled alive. And this is the thanks I'm getting for taking care of you all this time?”

 

His heart aches, tightens in his chest. He's feeling so weak all of sudden and just wants to sleep his feelings out. “I'm sorry, master...”

 

Ardyn looks sad, but he can never be sure really what goes through the man's mind. He gently rubs his thumbs on the pale skin of Noctis' face and sighs. “Oh Noctis, you don't know how people are out there. What they'd do to someone like you... But I do.”

 

He keeps quiet. He doesn't want to hear it, he doesn't need to. Ardyn forces him to look up, his amber eyes piercing through his very soul. Nailing every words that follow. “I've told you hundreds of times, repeat after me. You're abnormal.”

 

“I'm... Abnormal.” He mutters blankly. It's okay, he can do this, he's done it before.

 

“You're different. These are crimes for which people show no pity. They'll chase you, burn you right in front of Notre-Dame, because  _you are a monster_.”

 

“I'm a monster.” It'll be over soon, it never lasts too long.

 

Ardyn seems content and slowly stands up, Noctis face still trapped between his hands. “Now be faithful and grateful to me, trust only me for I am the only one who'll ever love you.” He presses his lips on the top of the really light blond head, eyes closed. “You can't trust anyone else. If you were to be found out, you know some people would do anything to get to you and this cursed body of yours.”

 

He closes his eyes, feeling exhausted. Emotionally drained. “Yes. Thank you, master.”

 

Ardyn explained to him that some people – witches – used body parts of people like him – people suspected to have the devil's blood running through their veins – in rituals to concoct potions that would give them more power. Because he's considered either as a demon or a moon child, with something magical in his flesh and blood. He finds it ridiculous and terrifying at the same time. If he had powers, he wouldn't be stuck here all his life. But he's here, stuck, and at those people's mercy if he ever goes outside.

 

“You're safe here.”

 

Ardyn takes a step back and walks toward the exit. When he's sure he left, Noctis sighs and grabs a large and thick cloak. Ignis and Gladio are moving again, walking toward him while he scavenges through a rather big chest with many clothes inside, looking for gloves.

 

“I'm assuming you're still going?” Ignis asks.

 

“Yes.” He keeps his head down, holding back the tears that gathered in his eyes the entire time. He needs to try, to leave at least once. Prove Ardyn wrong. He's going to sneak out, his master will never know.

 

“Have fun Noct, we'll be watching from here.” Gladio adds, arms crossed against his chest.

 

He can do this, everything will be fine.

 

...

 

His heart is beating furiously in his chest as he makes his way through the crowd. Now that he made it outside without being caught, he doesn't know exactly where he wants to go or what he wants to see. He feels a little bit overwhelmed by the smell of different pastries and sweets, alcohol and sweat. All the people dressed in colorful clothes except for him. The day's sunny and he constantly has to squint his eyes to see clearly what's going on. He's constantly blinded by the light, and he feels like he's drowning in an ocean of colors and people shoving at each other.

 

He's not scared, or panicked. Simply stressed out. He's hiding well his entire body and face with his dark cloak, large hoodie, and long leathered gloves. The only real person he ever had contact with was Ardyn. His attention is quickly caught by the sound of people singing further away and he walks toward the music, hoping he'll be able to see the show.

 

He gets to see only a few seconds of the singer dressed like a buffoon singing about the festival before two completely wasted men start picking a fight. He backs up when they throw punches at each other, moving toward a small red tent. He thinks he's safe until he trips on someone's foot and ends up with his face flat on the floor.

 

“Oh!”

 

He jumps at the voice, looks up to find out he's now inside this red tent with someone else who yells. A blond man in his twenties, wearing nothing but a small towel around his bare hips and many jewels as bracelets on his wrists and ankles, making him look like some kind of ethereal creature. He stays dumbfounded on the floor, gaping at those blue eyes and freckled cheeks until the other makes a move.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Is he talking to him?

 

“I...” He realizes he doesn't have his hoodie hiding his face anymore. He gasps and wants to grab it, but the blond man doesn't let him.

 

“Your hands are bleeding, we need to clean this.”

 

His first reflex is to back up when warm hands gently catch his wrists to examine the palms of his own hands, but he's surprised by the gesture. There's nothing hostile about it. He watches as the other dips a clean cloth in a large bowl of water and starts cleaning his hand like he would with anyone else. Noctis stares at him, taking the opportunity to memorize the blond's gorgeous face. He's probably the most beautiful person he's ever seen. His traits are slightly androgynous, even if there's no doubt that he's a man. And those freckles like small galaxies on his cheeks are only adding to his beauty.

 

His heart feels like it's going to explode in his chest, but not for the same reason as before. His cheeks grow hot, taking a light pink shade, while he's experiencing this very odd feeling down there which Ardyn scolded him about so badly before.

 

“Now, that's better.” The blue-eyed man seems content with his cleaning and gazes at him with a large smile, his hands never leaving Noctis'. “Wow, your eyes look like two rubies. It's gorgeous.” He closes the gap between their bodies and Noctis doesn't know how to react, so he just holds his breath. The boy smirks and pecks a light kiss on his cheek. “Be careful next time, and have fun!”

 

Noctis blinks a few times before walking mechanically outside the tent – after making sure he put his hoodie back on. People are all gathering toward a stage that wasn't here the day before. The same buffoon is dancing and singing onstage while approaching a man at the end of the stage, sitting in a large chair with a guard next to him. Noctis takes a deep breath when he recognizes the maroon hair which belongs to only one man in Paris, Ardyn Lucis Caelum.

 

It's fine, though. He could never recognize him from here anyway, he doesn't need to panic.

 

He looks at the buffoon dancing around Ardyn – who's obviously pissed – for a moment, counting a story Noctis doesn't listen to, his mind still stuck inside this red tent. He dances closer toward his public, shouting more than singing now, his excitement obvious, a wide smile stretching his lips.

“COME ONE! COME ALL!

HURRY, HURRY, HERE'S YOUR CHANCE

SEE THE MYSTERY AND ROMANCE

COME ONE! COME ALL!

SEE THE FINEST BOY IN FRANCE

MAKE AN ENTRANCE TO ENTRANCE

DANCE MY GORGEOUS..DANCE !”

 

The buffoon disappears in a puff of red smoke on the last word, someone else appears instead of him as it's dissipating and another music starts, more sensual. Noctis' eyes widen when he spots a flash of blond hair, recognizing the man from earlier. His attention and everyone else's eyes are on the slim silhouette proceeding a sultry dance onstage.

 

Even his master's eyes are sparkling when the boy moves toward him elegantly like a feline. The dancer pulls out a purple handkerchief from a small pocket and wraps it around Ardyn's neck when he's close enough while pressing his knees between the older man's thighs, trapping him into an embrace and Noctis finds himself rather envious when those pink lips get so close to Ardyn's and he moves to whisper something into the minister's ear. He sees Ardyn raising his hand to grab behind his nape, but the boy jumps away at the last moment with a mischievous smile, leaving the handkerchief to the older man.

 

If Noctis could see himself, he'd realize that he's mimicking his master's expression. Both staring at the beautiful creature still dancing on stage. He closes his mouth when the boy approaches him, jumping toward the end of the stage in a smooth move before performing a split. Some people scream in excitement, while a few others whistle. Noctis cheeks burn like fire when their eyes meet and the boy blinks at him with a smile. He raises his head to get a better look at him, admiring the swing of narrow hips, ignoring the heat of the sun on his face.

 

_Wait._

 

“What the fuck is that?!” A man shouts so loud it feels like he's got his mouth against his ear. And that's almost the case. Noctis feels a large hand grabbing his hoodie, ripping it off his face, his cloak following. He only has his a dark grey shirt on, nothing to hide his arms or his face anymore.

Other people around him gasp, staring at him with horrified looks and the music brutally stops. He backs up, only to hit the edge of the stage while everyone stares at him with wide eyes and a young girl screams.

 

“Mommy! His eyes!”

 

“This is the mark of the devil!”

 

Noctis shakes his head, wants to say something for his defence but nothing comes from his mouth. Everything happens so fast like an enormous wave ready to crush him. Everyone around him starts screaming and only certain words come to his brain as panic makes his vision go blurred. “Devil's child”, “Monster”, “Show him to the world”, “Get rid of this abomination”.

 

Run, he needs to run now.

 

Something hits him square in the face, like a harsh slap making sure he's conscious of what's happening. Except it explodes against his skin. He wipes his face with his hand to see the remaining parts of a tomato and his stomach makes a knot. Before he can react, a man wearing a colorful hat with little bells on it tightens a rope around his neck and forcefully lifts him on the stage, all the while insulting him.

 

He can hear everyone shouting at him, feel things being thrown at him and his gloves somehow sliding (or being taken) off his hands, his shirt getting partially ripped off, but his only focus now is on his neck being choked and he owns his survival only to a miracle. Seconds later, he's being lassoed and tied down on the floor. He manages to look up, sees Ardyn watching, fingers entwined together and legs crossed. He shouts his name, again and again, but the man just turns his head. Denying him his attention and help.

 

A foot meets with his stomach several times, then the back of his head. He hears the word “Fire”, but his mind is blank, his heart sinking. He doesn't even think to himself he's going to die now, he doesn't care about the uncomfortable warmth on his bare skin, he just wants it to be over.

 

“Enough!”

 

The entire crowd goes silent, everyone looks in the same direction. Noctis looks up to see the blond boy kneeling next to him, a comforting hand resting on his bare shoulder. “I'm sorry, this should've never happened.”

 

“You! Gypsy boy!” Ardyn's voice rings loud and clear in the silence of the crowd. The minister's now standing tall a few meters away. “Get down immediately!”

 

The boy glares at him, but remains polite. “I will your honour. As soon as I free this poor man.”

 

“I forbid it!”

 

The blond man snorts, whips out a knife from his belt and cuts the ropes, helping Noctis who's still entangled in them.

 

“How dare you.” Ardyn hisses, he's never looked so furious before. Almost losing it, his eyes burning with anger.

 

“How dare  _you_  let the crowd treat this poor boy like this?! You mistreat him the same way you mistreat my people. You pretend you represent justice but you never help the ones most in need!”

 

“Silence!” The religious man shouts, his voice echoing.

 

“Justice!” The boy shouts louder while grabbing a rotten apple on the floor and throwing it toward the man. Hitting his target right in the jaw. The crowd gasps when the fruit's juices drip from the archdeacon's face, Ardyn frozen in place for a second. He surely didn't expect this. He wipes his face off, glaring at the young boy.

 

“Mark my word, gypsy. You'll pay for this, I'll make an example of you.” He points at him. “Captain Ulric, arrest him!”

 

Said Captain motions for a few other guards to get him, all of them surrounding the stage with their weapons out. Noctis doesn't dare to move and looks at the fragile looking boy who starts counting them. He doesn't stand a chance, they all know it.

 

“... Eight, nine, ten of you guys, and me all by myself. Oh my, what can I do?”

 

He starts sobbing, pulling a pink tissue from another discrete pocket to cry into it – Noctis supposes. When the guards are only two meters from them, though, the young man throws his tissue on the floor and the same smoke from earlier appears from nowhere in a quite loud explosion, blinding all of them.

 

And he's gone.

 

“Witchcraft!” Ardyn sounds horrified this time, staring at the empty spot left by the boy.

 

Orders are given by the captain. They must find the gypsy boy, Minister Ardyn wants him alive. Noctis is slowly coming back to his senses, trying to make himself as small as possible. Thankfully the focus isn't on him anymore but on the scene that just happened. A gypsy boy insulting a man as important as Ardyn Lucis Caelum and disappearing just like this, magically.

 

It's not enough, though, and he soon finds himself facing his master. Ardyn's looking down on him whereas he's quietly crawling down the stage, the man's hands balled into fists, his eyes sending dagger right into his soul. The youngest keeps his head down, staring at the fancy boots Ardyn's wearing.

 

“I'm sorry, I will never disobey again.”

 

Ardyn doesn't say anything, he just keeps glaring at him. He doesn't need to gesture for him to go back inside the cathedral, Noctis does it by himself. He closes the large door behind him, ignoring all the eyes on him, finding shelter in the reassuring darkness and silence of the religious place. When he's sure he's safe, he runs upstairs to his place.

 

...

 

Ardyn was right all along, he never wants to go outside again, people will never accept him, they can only hate him.

But if he can't be loved then... Why is Prompto holding him so tight between his arms now?


End file.
